Stolen Time
by portionss-forfoxes
Summary: "Oh, but Amy," he said, "surely you must know you are anything but ordinary."  Missing moment from Let's Kill Hitler.  Sploilers for AGMGTW, LHK.


**Title: **"Stolen Time"  
><strong>Author: <strong>Me, brokenheartedshipper/Dori.  
><strong>Characters, Pairings: <strong>Amy, Eleven, Amy/Eleven, much talk of Melody  
><strong>Summary: <strong>"Oh, but Amy," he said, "surely you must know you are anything but ordinary."  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>This was my very first DW fanfic (ah, the memories). It is certainly not my best (that would be "like a name from a fairytale" or "The Doctor Lies"… *hint hint*); obviously muchas spoilers for LKH and AGMGTW.  
><strong>Rating: <strong>T, simply for themes; no sex or violence, not even much swearing, I don't think (though you can never be sure with me)  
><strong>Notes: <strong>The setting is right before they take off for Germany in _Let's Kill Hitler_; just assume Rory is off giving "Mels" a quick tour of the Tardis (but we all know a "quick" tour is impossible when it comes to Sexy), while Amy and the Doctor share a moment near the console.

*/*

The Doctor was bustling about the Tardis as usual. _Berlin_, he mumbled. _Which part of Germany is that in again? Ah, yes, in the West. But isn't there—oh, no, no…that came much later, didn't it? Which year is it we're talking about? '42? '37? No, no, it was '38, wasn't it—?_

"Doctor," Amy said. She was leaning against the railing of the ship's upper level, watching the Doctor intently as he circled the console. He muttered numbers and futuristic science equations, pulling at levers and twisting a knob here or there. Needless to say, he was not paying much attention to her. It is hard for one to do so when one is in possession of a brain like the Doctor's.

"_Doctor_," she said again.

"When did the wall thingy happen?" he murmured.

Amy shifted her hands, her eyes narrowing and her brows tilting down into a frown.

"Doctor!" she snapped. He whipped around to look at her, a startled expression on his face.

"No need to be snappy," he said, looking affronted. "I'm right here, aren't I?"

Amy rolled her eyes, momentarily distracted and amused by the Doctor's constant tendency to get his head stuck in the clouds (literally _and _figuratively, mind you). Quickly she remembered that now was no time for pleasant daydreaming, though in her head that was exactly what the Doctor was for.

"Doctor, I'm scared," she told him bluntly.

The Doctor blinked twice, then took two somewhat off-balance steps toward her (he was always wobbly after his mind had been in hyper-drive for a while), a concerned frown upon his face.

"Amy, I'll find her. You know I will." He came up to lean against the railing beside her, their arms brushing as they looked not at each other, but straight ahead. "Of course, I'm always one to say time can be rewritten, but in this case we know that I _do _find River-Song...Melody."

"Yes," Amy said. She didn't sound comforted. "But that's not all I'm afraid of."

The Doctor turned his head to face her then. She was still frowning, her green eyes focused on the ground ahead of her. A strand of red hair fell from behind her ear where it was pinned—she was constantly pinning her hair back now, never wearing it in the youthful, carefree style of before—obscuring her pretty, pale face from his view.

"But if I know Amelia Pond," the Doctor began bravely, his voice upbeat, "I know that she's not scared of anything, except maybe a crack in her wall."

Amy smiled. The Doctor could not see it, but he could tell.

"But Doctor," she objected, the smile slipping from her lips, "I'm scared of myself. I'm scared of what this all means for me. I mean..." She tipped her head back now, though she still was not ready to look him in the eye. "Once this happens, once you find her...it's all over for me. I'll just be an ordinary housewife, living an ordinary life in an ordinary village, and more than daleks or Time Wars or sinister space creatures, that's what I'm afraid of." Amy finally turned her head to her friend, her best friend, waiting and longing for any sort of reaction. He searched her with his eyes for a moment, as he so often did, but then—then he smiled.

"Oh, but Amy," he said, bumping his shoulder against his with his arms crossed, "surely you must know you are anything but ordinary."

"But that's just the thing, Doctor," Amy said with fervor, pushing off the railing and stepping forward to lean her palms onto the console. "I'll just be some...some Leadworth housewife with a husband and kid, and I'll eventually forget that I once travelled the universe with a friendly alien. No one will know, no one will care that I've been courted by Vincent Van Gogh, or that I've saved the life of the last star whale in the 29th century. It won't matter. It will never have happened. Everything's gotten so complicated now and I...I'm scared of what will happen if…when…you _do_ find her." Amy let her head fall and her eyes close for a moment. It was the best escape she could manage. Her voice was much softer now as she went on, "I can't help thinking there will always be this part of me…this part of me that wishes it could be just you and me, travelling the universe alone together, for—well, forever."

The Doctor knew he should not say such things—he knew it would only complicate things further, and he knew it would only cause her to regret and wonder and "_what if_" herself to death. And believe him, the Doctor knows there is nothing more dangerous than "_what if_." But he can't help himself. He can't help himself, so he lets the two words fall from his lips, soft and quiet as a feather. "Me too."

Amy whirled around now, looking surprised for a moment. But within a second the surprise was gone, and that dead-set, down-to-business expression was now on her face, the one the Doctor knew so well. She always got like this when she had something to say that was very important, and the Doctor knew then it was time to listen.

"Doctor," she said, and her voice was inches from wavering, yet nowhere near, "whatever happens, wherever we go from here, however it ends…you have to know..." She straightened up, the determined look in her eyes strengthening, "you have to know that I love you."

The Doctor clamped his lips together, closing the distance between them for a hug. He was a hugger. Amy wouldn't have pegged him for a 'touchy-feely' type, but she'd figured out by now that he was so lonely, so very desperate for the touch of another being, that he hugged as often as he could, and savored every second. She tried for a moment to do the same, closing her eyes and nestling her chin into his shoulder, feeling her raggedy Doctor so close to her heart.

"And I you," the Doctor breathed into Amy's fiery hair.

Amy opened her eyes, which were watery but too stubborn to shed tears, and pulled her head from its position. She held the Doctor firmly by his upper arms, and their faces were close now, their torsos pressed together. She could feel his warmth—he was so, so warm. Her green eyes bored into him, and again he searched her with his own, taking in her unflinching expression and stubborn, set lips.

"_Let me_," she said in a whispered rush. "Just once, please let me. Pretend it's only me and you and the whole universe in our hands…Just me and you, like the good old days…"

The Doctor knew he shouldn't. He knew the "_what ifs_" were piling up now, and he was letting them, God, he was letting them, even though the very purpose of his existence was to rid the world and its people of "_what ifs_." But this was his own wistfulness on the table, his own frenzied but despicable longing to forget Rory and River-Song and Madame Kavorian and Melody and the Impossible Astronaut, and just be with _Amy_, simple as that, because she was funny and flirty and feisty and young, and he enjoyed her company, and most importantly, she made him less lonely.

So he let her. Even though he knew how _wrong_ it was, he let his own vile nostalgia interfere with what he knew he should do.

Amy kissed him, just once, on the lips. She lingered there, trying to take in everything she could about her best friend, the Doctor, before it all came to a grinding halt and she had to be reminded of everything that made her life the fucking mess that it was.

It was soft and sweet, and Amy knew that was because they were such good friends, because they loved each other—they'd just said so, hadn't they?—and because they knew this could not happen again.

_I musn't_, she thought, _I really musn't—_but somewhere deep inside of her, there was that same old mischievous Amy Pond, the one who flirted shamelessly and wore tiny skirts with ripped tights and combat boots. That Amy Pond who had once been her was buried deep inside now, underneath layers and layers labeled "wife." But she was still there somewhere, so Amy smirked and opened her mouth.

The Doctor kissed her back without thinking, unconsciously running his tongue along the roof of her mouth—it was just like that day in her bedroom, really—and Amy melted into him, shifting her jaw in sync with his. She bit down playfully on his lower lip—that was a trick she never got to use anymore—naughty things like that, leftover from the colorful days of Amy Pond no longer had a place in her life, in her marriage (after all, they were one and the same). The Doctor let out a squeak at the sensation of her teeth, and pulled away, resigned.

…But he was smiling fondly. "All right, all right," he cautioned. "That's quite enough, I think."

Amy swung his arms back and forth with her own and awarded him a vibrant grin. Then she let go and danced over to the console, twirling as she went. She felt like her old self again, and wondered how long it would last.

_Not long, _said a niggling voice inside her head, and she sighed.

"So," she said. "Back to reality." Her smile was tinted with sadness, as it would be from then on out.

"Yes..." the Doctor said, and he began pulling and twisting at knobs and levers again, a tiny frown on his face. "Yes."

"Off to kill Hitler," Amy pronounced, her eyes following his movements.

"And much more," the Doctor replied, and he took a deep breath and closed his eyes for just a moment. He did not know that Amy watched him take that breath, watched him shut his weary, hurting eyes, and turned away as a single tear fell from her eye. "And much more."

* * *

><p>THE END<p>

**Reviews are always appreciated. I wonder if pasting a picture of a puppy's begging face here would make any difference…Just picture one! Thanks for reading!**


End file.
